


I wonder if you wonder about me too

by AuraSweet13



Series: Samar/Harold [5]
Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-16 06:37:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5817943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuraSweet13/pseuds/AuraSweet13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wake of Charlene's affair on him, and Samar's feelings of betrayal, they get closer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Samar felt a fleeting sense of pride as she watched Ressler leave the room to make the deal, Liz not too far behind him. She turned to Cooper. "For the record, sir, I'm glad you're back." She said, though her words were putting how she felt mildly. It was nice to feel something other than sad for once.

He smiled. "It's good to be back, Samar. But, what about you? How are you doing?"

Harold didn't miss the flash of sorrow that seemed to flicker on her face like the flame of a candle for a second before it was gone. "I'm all right."

"Are you sure?" He knew it wasn't his place to pry, but he didn't want to ignore the look on her face, especially not given the clear tension between her and Agent Ressler.

"It's nothing I can't handle, sir." Samar was deflecting. It was obvious to him that something wasn't right, but she clearly didn't want to talk about it. He wondered if she felt the same way he did. Like being ousted from the Post Office had given them both a new perspective on their world.

"Well, I know things have been difficult lately," Harold started, almost cautiously. He wanted to help her, be there for her, not scare her off completely. "I can certainly relate, if you need to talk."

Samar blinked. She hadn't been expecting that. She was so used to shouldering all of her problems, she suspected this would be no different. But, no, instead she got someone willing to listen. "I'd like that, sir. But not right now."

"Of course not, the case should be completed first." Harold nodded. "Maybe we could meet at the park where we first met after work?"

Samar nodded. "That sounds good to me." Then she left the office, feeling just a little better about her current situation, feeling a little less alone.

 

The weather was decent for a January evening. A little chilly, yes, but not unbearable. Samar stuck her hands into her pockets as she moved over to the bench where Harold was already sitting, waiting for her. Her mind flashed back to the first time they'd sat in this exact spot. He'd been so wary of her, and she'd been guarded, and now they were meeting each other's eyes and smiling at the sight of each other. She sat down next to him, and for a moment neither of them spoke, just sat and watched the few people in the park. It wasn't exceptionally late, but not many people came around here anyway.

To her surprise, it was him who broke the silence. "So, I take it Agent Ressler wasn't great at being Acting Director?"

Samar laughed weakly, in spite of everything, in spite of the fact that she didn't feel like laughing at all. "You definitely wouldn't be wrong in saying that."

Harold felt successful and proud that he'd gotten her to laugh, or even smile for that matter. "I also take it that he didn't shape up after taking a reckless shot that almost killed you."

Samar gave him a sad smile that tugged at his heartstrings. "No, that's the strange part. He did, for a little while. But then things got complicated and stressful again." She looked away and then back to him after she was certain she wouldn't completely break down. "I told you in your tiny, cramped office that he wasn't doing a bad job. I take that back now." Harold rested his hands on his legs as he focused on her, listening to anything she wanted to tell him. He watched her squeeze her eyes shut, watched something he could only describe as shame cross her face. "We slept together." Her voice was quiet. His brow rose in surprise. "And then the day after, he fired me. This was three days ago."

Well, it certainly explained the tension he'd noticed between her and Ressler. He couldn't help feeling disappointed, but not in Samar. Ressler should never have crossed that line with her, and he definitely shouldn't have fired her after. "I'm sorry." He said, but sympathetically rather than pityingly.

"And I can't even go back to Mossad full time now, because everyone who liked or trusted me is either dead or injured." She glanced over seeing his wide eyed expression. "That's a long story. I've probably kept you from home long enough. I don't want your wife to get worried about you."

Harold laughed, but it was humourless. "Charlene and I are taking a break, as it turns out." Now it was her turn to look at him incredulously. "I just recently found out that she had an affair on me before we found out about my sickness."

"Oh, my God." She breathed, and he found himself smiling sadly. "I'm sorry." He could tell from her tone of voice that she meant it, too, and he didn't stop her as she reached for his hand, intertwining their fingers.

This comforted him, and he even found himself continuing to talk about it. "I don't know what's worse, the fact that she had an affair with the man I used to consider one of my best friends, or the fact that this affair happened months ago and I'm _just_ finding out about it."

"I'm not saying she's in the right here, because it was wrong of her to do that to you," Samar's voice was usually so calm, but he could hear undertones of uncertainty and maybe even a little bit of fear now. "but isn't it good that you found out from her and not from someone else?"

He hadn't thought of it like that until now. As upset as he had been to find out, at least it had been  _Charlene_ that told him, and not Doug or someone else. That would've been much worse. "You're right. I guess I hadn't thought of it like that as a result of everything." He shook his head.

"It's easy to not think about details in the wake of a tragedy." Samar spoke again, and Harold could tell she was speaking from experience. "There's so much I could talk about, I don't even know where to begin. Does that make sense?"

Harold nodded, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "It makes complete sense." To him it did, anyway. "The point I was trying to make, Samar, is that I have time. If you need to get something off your chest, go for it. I don't have anywhere to be."

He watched her inhale deeply and then exhale just as much. And then she spoke. The words that came pouring from her lips shocked him. Her brother, whom she had previously thought was dead, was really alive but, more than that, he was a terrorist that killed many of her Mossad colleagues, injured others, manipulated her and nearly took her prisoner. And then she went on to talk about how she had used Ressler's computer to help Red and had gotten fired as a result. "Through all of this, you are one of the only members on the task force whose intentions I never doubted. I just needed to say thank you for that."

"Of course, Samar." He looked at her. "You were there to listen to me when I needed to talk about my 'illness', and again tonight about the affair. The least I could do was offer you the same in return." Harold looked straight ahead and then back at her. "You should go home and get some rest."

Samar shook her head, a weak laugh escaping her. "I haven't had rest for years. I'm lucky if I sleep at all most nights."

Harold almost frowned again, but then he got an idea. "Well, instead of us both going back to empty homes, how about I make you dinner?"

Samar hadn't been expecting that, and she felt her cheeks flush as she thought about it. Not long enough to make him think she would refuse, though. "That sounds nice. Really nice, in fact."

He smiled and stood up, offering her his hand, though it was mainly for the gesture than anything else. "Well, then, shall we?"

Samar smiled up at him and nodded, standing from the bench. He lowered his hand. "Lead the way." The pair of them walked off into the night.

 

"Make yourself comfortable." Harold said as he shut the door behind them, taking off his coat. "Here, let me get that for you." He gently took her coat off.

Since her back was turned, he couldn't see her smile. "Thank you." She murmured, taking off her shoes. "It feels strange to be in a house. I've only ever been in apartments. Here in the States, anyway." She turned to face him. "It's nice."

He took his shoes off, too. "Thank you." He gestured into the foyer. "After you."

Samar nodded and turned to enter the house. It felt strange for her to be here, given his history with Charlene. But she also didn't want to go back to her empty, lonely apartment, and the light in his house was warm. "Do you want me to help with anything?" She asked as they entered the kitchen.

"Just give me a second to get out the vegetables, and you can help me by chopping them up. Does teriyaki stir fry sound good?"

Samar set to rolling up her sleeves and washing her hands, considering her hair was already up. "Sounds perfect." He placed a couple of carrots and a couple sticks of celery, and various other vegetables in front of her, and she washed them off before starting to chop them up. "Can I make a request, though?" She asked as she chopped.

"Of course, fire away." Harold looked over his shoulder at her while he waited for the noodles to boil in the water.

"Can we try not to talk about work tonight? Not that I thought that was what you wanted to talk about." Samar spoke. "I'm just tired of talking about work, you know?"

Did he ever. "Don't worry, we'll keep the work talk to a bare minimum, promise." In truth, he didn't want to talk about work tonight either. That wasn't why he had invited her over. He had invited her over so that neither of them had to be alone. He couldn't help the thought that she looked so natural here in his kitchen, but he quickly pushed that thought away. Considering himself and Charlene weren't divorced yet, just taking a break, moving too fast could ruin everything. Especially with how much she had been through as of late. One mistake could cost him her trust and her friendship. And no amount of loneliness was worth possibly losing her, in any way.

Samar couldn't help thinking about how much this reminded her of when she used to help her mother in the kitchen. She had always helped with the food, but mostly the small things, like getting the vegetables and he fruit, while her mom did most of the preparing. But after her death, the cooking responsibilities had fallen to her. She had to consciously tell herself that she wasn't there, that she was here, with Director Cooper. "I apologize in advance, my vegetables might be uneven."

"I'm sure I'll survive eating unevenly cut vegetables, Samar." He told her, and when she looked up she found him smiling at her.

This encouraged her, and she found herself smiling, too. "Okay, but don't say I didn't warn you." The sound of his laughter filled her with pure joy.

The food was soon ready. "The cutlery is in the drawer there." He pointed to the one in the middle. Nodding, she walked over to grab a fork for each of them, as he put the food onto plates and brought them over to the table. She handed him a fork and then sat down in the chair that had been pulled out for her. Samar expected him to sit down, but before he did, she felt him push her chair in for her.

She thanked him quietly, and found that he was smiling as he sat down beside her.

"Of course." They started to eat, and the silence wasn't awkward, but he found that he didn't want there to be silence between them. "So, despite the fact that we've been working together for months, I still don't know much about you. What you like to do in your free time, for example."

"What free time?" She asked with a slightly dry note to her voice, and he chuckled and nodded in a 'Fair enough' kind of motion. "In all seriousness, though, I like to get up early in the morning, which is where my not being able to sleep comes in handy, I guess, and just go running. I can go for hours before I get tired if the weather is decent. I can thank my Mossad training for that. It really helps me clear my head." She stopped talking and felt her cheeks grow warm at the way he was looking at her. "Was I rambling?" She asked shyly.

Harold shook his head immediately. "No, not at all. Once I realized that the illness was fake, and I started feeling better, I actually took up jogging myself. There is definitely something calming about it." She relaxed hearing that he felt similarly, or at least that he could see why she liked it so much. The fact that they had this in common helped, too.

"Having something else to focus on instead of what's bothering you can be a huge relief, like on how fast you can go or how far." Samar nodded, smiling. "Maybe, maybe we could meet up and go for a run together sometime." She smirked teasingly. "We'll see if you can keep up."

Harold's eyes widened, but the warm smile that came to his face let her know that he wasn't offended by her words. Not even close. "Is that a challenge, Miss Navabi?" His brow rose, and she couldn't help the giggle that escaped her before she went stoic.

"Yes it is, as a matter of fact." Samar was still smirking as she ate another forkful of the stir fry. It was really good, not that she had expected anything less. "You can name the time and place."

"What about the day after tomorrow, in the park we were in tonight, at 6am?" Harold suggested, not wanting to give a time that would be too early for either of them, but also that wasn't late enough that they would have to go into work before they got the chance to go for that run.

"6am sounds perfect." Samar held out her hand. He shook it. "Now I have something else to look forward to this week." She smiled as she drew her hand back and continued eating.

"Samar, are you happy being back with the task force?" Harold asked as he swallowed another mouthful of stir fry. Reinstating her was the first thought that had been on his mind after Ressler had given him his job back, but seeing her today, he couldn't help noticing that she had seemed wildly unhappy. Now that he knew why, he couldn't help wondering. "I know I said we'd keep talk of work to a minimum, but I care about you, Samar. If you're unhappy, as your boss, it's my job to make sure that isn't the case. To fix it, if I can."

"I'm not unhappy." Samar told him. "It's a little awkward, sure, but I can put up with that. I want to be on the task force, I want to keep working like we did before Liz had to go on the run." _And I definitely don't want to leave you._ She thought, not daring to say.

"If things don't get better, you will tell me, though?" He asked, and the earnest look in his eyes both scared her and flattered her.

"Of course, sir." Samar told him, being just as honest with him as he seemed to be with her.

"While we're in this house, you can call me Harold." Seeing the surprised expression on her face, he continued on. "If you're comfortable with doing so, that is."

Samar was surprised, but not in a bad way. "I am." She told him, surprised by how quickly her response came, how honest it was. She finished eating. "Thank you for dinner, Harold." She tested it out, deciding that she liked how it sounded.

Harold definitely liked the way his name sounded on her lips. "You're welcome, Samar. Although, I guess _I_ should be the one thanking you. I would've been eating alone if it weren't for you."

"Let's say we helped each other out and leave it at that, yeah?" Samar offered, and he nodded. She got up with her bowl in hand, moving it when Harold tried to take it from her. "You've done pretty much everything else tonight, let me do this."

"You're a guest in my home." He said, but let her put her bowl away, putting his into the dishwasher afterwards.

Samar knew she shouldn't overstay her welcome. But she was comfortable here. _No, that's a bad idea. Don't get comfortable here. We both know what happened the last time you got comfortable with your boss._ Her conscience reminded her, bringing pictures of Ressler to the forefront of her mind. She felt herself frown, felt her mood deteriorate. The good mood was nice while it lasted. All she could do was hope Harold hadn't noticed.

"Samar? Penny for your thoughts?" Unfortunately, it seemed as though he had, if the concerned look on his face was anything to go by.

"Sir, what are we doing?" She asked, hating how weak her voice sounded.

"For now, just dinner." He told her with the utmost certainty. "Samar, I know how Ressler's behavior must have affected you. But I promise you, you don't have to worry about that with me. I don't want to hurt you."

Samar told herself to relax, to calm down. She wasn't in any danger, she wasn't even close to being at the same point she was with Ressler in his apartment. "I appreciate that, sir. Dinner was great. I should probably get home, though, if I want to at least try to be rested for work tomorrow."

"Thank you for agreeing to it." Harold told her. "I'll walk you out." And he did so. He helped her into her coat but let her put on her own boots.

"I'll see you in a couple of days, for our run." Samar told him, and then she took a chance, wrapping her arms around him and hugging him close. "I had a lot of fun tonight." She kissed him on the cheek as she pulled back.

Harold felt his cheeks grow warm in spite of himself. "I did, too." He told her, opening the door for her. "I'll see you later. Sleep well, Samar."

"You too, sir." She said, and then left the house. As the door closed behind her, she wondered if they would be able to go anywhere with this. Or if it was wrong for her to hope that he didn't get back together with his wife. Shaking her head, she walked down the stairs and headed back to her apartment.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their run only strengthens the connection between them.

The sun hadn’t yet risen, but it also wasn't pitch black outside either, as Samar Navabi sat on the bench, waiting for Harold to show up. She didn't want to admit it, and she wouldn't dare, but since their dinner date the other night, she had been thinking about him _a lot_. Especially knowing what she did about him and Charlene. However, she was trying to keep her distance until he was officially separated from Charlene. She'd been through too much the past few days alone to have the 'Homewrecker' label added to her reputation. Not that anyone knew she had slept with Ressler, save for a few people.

But she herself knew, which was _more_ than enough reason for her to keep her distance with Harold, in the romance department at least.

She looked up as she heard footsteps coming towards her, and smiled at the sight of him in a jacket and a black tuque. Samar stood up. "Hey, you're right on time." The thought of going for a run with him, having him see her in her element, was exciting. "And you dressed warmly, always a smart idea when running in winter." As for herself, she wore her grey scarf, a black jacket, a pair of lined leggings she had bought a while back, and a white knit cap.

"I figured it would be." He said, and she watched him stick his hands into his pockets. "You look nice today, by the way."

Though she felt her cheeks grow hot, she smirked. "Flattery won't get me to go easy on you. Nice try, though." She winked. "Ready to go?"

Harold nodded, smiling as well. "On your mark, get set, go!" Then he took off.

"Hey!" Samar said as she took off after him, but she couldn't help laughing. Her Mossad training made it so she was able to catch up to him with relative ease, and she relished the feeling of the chilly air on her face, whipping at her clothing and her hair. When she ran, it was easy to forget anything that was going on in her mind or around her, to block everything and everyone else out and just run. Once she got running, she found that she didn't stop until she was exhausted.

Unbeknownst to her, Harold was watching her, well, more like glancing over every so often. There was a peaceful expression on her face he hadn't seen at work. Not to mention how calm he himself felt. _Note to self, thank her for inviting you along when the two of you stop to take a break._ He thought. They didn't talk, they just ran.

 

Eventually, Samar stopped and moved over to sit down. Harold sat down across from her. "That was exhilarating. Thank you for inviting me." He said, his tone sincere.

"Thank you for coming along with me." Samar returned, grinning. "There's a great little shop nearby that sells fantastic coffee."

"That sounds perfect." Harold stood up, and Samar did too. "Lead the way."

"Don't mind if I do." Samar told him, and the two of them walked off in a comfortable silence.

 

"So, can I ask what made you take up running, or is that a subject I'm not allowed to breach yet?" Harold asked as he sipped on his coffee, after letting it cool down for a bit, of course.

Samar shrugged. "You can, it's not as if it's some deeply hidden secret. Mossad liked its operatives to be in shape. They accomplished this with weight training, sparring, and running, just to name a few. I wasn't bad at sparring, I _despised_ weight training. But running? I loved it from the first moment I started. Once I struck out on my own, I took it up as a hobby, and it just stuck. But, I guess it helps that I don't sleep very well, therefore I can get up early and go running before work."

"You know, I've found that tea can sometimes help soothe the body enough to sleep." Harold offered, watching her brow raise. "Chamomile is the most common one, but I've found that lavender works just as well."

"I'd heard that was true, but I never used the method myself." Samar said, sipping her own coffee. Black just like she was used to. "If I'm right, I have a couple packages of chamomile in my cupboard. I bought them a while back. I'll use one tonight."

Harold smiled, feeling nothing short of flattered that she was taking his suggestion into consideration. "Let me know if it works."

"I'll be sure to do that." Samar beamed at him. As nice as this was, eventually they had both finished their coffees. By this point, it was less than an hour until they had to head into work. She waited until they had stepped outside to speak. "I guess this is where we part ways." She said, trying not to show how disappointed she was at that fact.

"Unfortunately, yes, I think it is." Harold felt disappointed, too. It sat in his chest like a weight as he looked at his phone to check the time. "But only for about forty five minutes."

Samar nodded. "Okay, well, I'll see you soon, then." A pause. "This was a lot of fun. We should do it more often."

Harold nodded. "Yes, we definitely should. But this time, _you_ name the place and time."

Her smile widened. "See you at work, sir." She said before she turned and jogged off in the direction of her apartment. Because her back was to him, she didn't noticing him staring at her with a longing look on his face before he shook his head and started back to his place.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chapter based after The Vehm.

Charlene had only been out of town for a few days. By the time she came back, he was ready to leave the house. This had been a couple of days ago.

And now he was camping out in his office, the flowers she had sent him sitting on his desk. Aram had gone home, and with his absence, Harold was feeling a haze of drowsiness, settling over his mind like a blanket.

The sound of his phone ringing barely permeated it. "Hello?" He asked, wondering who could be calling him at that hour.

Someone was crying on the other end of the line. Or, if they weren't crying, it was taking every ounce of strength they had not to. He almost spoke, but the person on the other line beat him to it. "Harold?" That one word woke him up. The voice was quiet, thick with tears, broken. But that wasn't what had snapped him back to his surroundings.

It was Samar's voice.

"Samar?" He instantly sat up, the desire to put on his shoes and jacket and go to her stirring in him. "What happened? Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

A soft sob. A shuddering breath. "Not physically. I didn't...I didn't know who else to call."

"Talk to me." A fear, like none he'd felt before now, was settling into his body, into every pore it could reach. "I'm here, you can talk to me."

"No, it's fine. It's late, I don't want to bother you." Samar sounded broken. "I just needed to hear your voice."

"Where are you?" He found himself getting off the couch and already putting on his boots and coat. "I'll come get you."

"I'm at my apartment." She seemed to be relaxing slightly, and he wondered if his voice had something to do with that. As she gave him the address, he quickly wrote it down. It was maybe ten, fifteen minutes from the post office. Almost like it was an afterthought, she gave him her floor number and apartment number. 3B.

"I'll be there soon." He told her. "Do you want me to stay on the phone with you until I get there?"

"It's not like I'm going to do anything drastic, Harold." Samar's tone was almost dry. "You should hang up, keep your full attention on the road."

He wasn't so sure that she wouldn't. "I'll be there soon." He repeated, hanging up. Then he practically ran from the office, down the stairs and towards the elevator.

 

He made it to her building in thirteen minutes. It took him less than three to get up to her floor and find 3B. He knocked cautiously, knowing that with how late it was, he could wake the other tenants up if he wasn't careful.

She opened the door, and as he took in the sight of her, his first thought was _How the **hell** did I not notice how sad she was when she came in to talk to me about Ressler? _ He could see it now, clear as day. In the slump of her shoulders, the dark circles under her eyes. But most of all, he could see it in the lack of light in her beautiful brown eyes, which were usually so expressive that the lack of anything in them terrified him. "You came." She whispered, stepping aside. She still wore the clothes she had come to work in.

Did Ressler have something to do with her being like this now?

He stepped into the apartment, letting her close the door behind him. He'd barely turned around before she was throwing her arms around him and holding on him like her life depended on it. And then she was sobbing. He'd thought she'd been sobbing on the phone, but the sounds she'd been trying to withhold then had been nothing like these. Those, he could handle, but the sounds currently leaving her mouth, wracking her body? Each one was a knife to his heart. He lifted her into his arms and carried her over to the couch, rubbing her back and letting her cry it out. All the while, her grip on him didn't loosen, so he stayed where he was. Once she started to calm down, he dared to speak. "Samar, please. Talk to me. If there's something I can do, I need to know." He remembered the dinner they'd shared earlier this week, which felt like eons ago now.

"Things haven't gotten any better." She whispered brokenly, her head resting against his chest. He remembered his words, too.

_If things don't get better, will you tell me?_

Samar was a tall woman, but the way she was curled up in his arms, as if she was trying to make herself as small as humanly possible, made her seem not only much smaller, but much younger. "I thought I could handle it for the sake of the work we do, but I don't think I can, sir. I don't feel needed or necessary with the task force any longer, and I haven't for some time." Another sob escaped her, and his grip on her tightened slightly, like it would make a difference. "I'm not strong enough. I've been through too much the past couple days, and it feels like there are a million heavy weights all pressing in on me, trapping me. Everything takes more strength than I currently have. Smiling, thinking, even breathing. I'm at a loss for what to do."

Harold was, too. He wanted to help her, more than anything he wanted to help her. But he didn't know how. "What did Ressler do?" The _this time_ was implied.

"If I tell you, you have to promise me that you won't press charges." Samar told him, which did nothing for his fear.

But he looked down into her eyes. "I promise I won't press charges."

"Ressler isn't the one who wrote the report." Samar swallowed, pulling back from him just slightly to meet his eyes better. "Aram is, but he hacked into Ressler's computer and made it seem like Ressler did. Which was a sweet gesture, but less so since I spent the whole day thinking that Ressler wrote it. And after the case, I thanked Ressler for what he had written."

"Oh, no." He said out loud.

Samar gave a weak smile that barely stretched the corners of her lips. "It went about as well as I'm sure you're expecting. Ressler didn't even know what Aram had done. He told me he hadn't written it, which wouldn't have been so bad. But then he said he didn't write it because he didn't believe I should have gotten my job back." Tears started swimming in her eyes once more. "He called Reddington a wild card and said he didn't know where he stood with me, even though he's been working with me for a year and a bit now." A sob wracked her body. "And now with Liz back, I feel like all I ever was, was just Liz's replacement." She dissolved into a new round of sobs, and he held her again, as tightly as he had the first time. Not enough to hurt her, but enough to let her know that he was there, that he wasn't going anywhere. Harold knew he should say _something_. But what did you say to someone who had clearly been suffering with all of this for days, maybe longer? What **did** you say to someone whose world was in shambles around them? "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have called you." She pulled back from him slightly again. "It's so late, and you have to work in the morning, and just because I can't sleep, doesn't mean you shouldn't be able to."

He wanted to tell her that after coming here, seeing her like this, he didn't think he even would be able to fall asleep. "I'm sleeping at the office." He offered, daring to stroke her hair, wondering if it would calm her down or make her pull away further. "Charlene came back to the house and I left, not wanting to start an argument. I'm looking for a place, but until then, I'm using the couch in my office as a bed. And that couch is a lot of things, but comfortable isn't one of them." When she laughed softly, the briefest smile coming to her face, he smiled, too. He pulled the handkerchief from the pocket of his suit and handed it to her. She dabbed at her eyes and he spoke again. "This couch is far more comfortable. Will you allow me to stay here for the time being, be here for you?"

Samar nodded shyly, placing the handkerchief in her lap. Probably for if she started crying again. "Yes, although I can't promise I'll be much of a conversationalist."

"That's okay, Samar. More than okay." He opened his arm to her, and she shifted so she was nestled against his side. "If something does come to your mind that you want to talk about, though, please know that it wouldn't bother me in the slightest."

"Okay." She whispered, and a silence fell over them. She had stopped crying now, and he wondered how much of it she had done, how much of it she had suffered through on her own, because she didn't feel like she had anyone who would listen. Too often, he'd guess. "What would you say if I handed in a letter of resignation?" She asked after a few moments of silence.

He considered her question. "Well, I'd miss you. But knowing what I know now, I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to resign." Harold couldn't help thinking how much easier it would be for them to pursue a relationship if she was no longer working as his employee. Not that he wanted her to leave. "The decision is ultimately yours."

"I don't know. Because I no longer feel comfortable with the task force, current company and an exception notwithstanding. But at the same time, most of my Mossad colleagues are dead. If I left the task force, I'd be all alone and without a job." Samar placed her head in her hands, and he found himself gently rubbing her back, wanting to give her all the support he could without crossing any lines. She didn't seem to mind the gesture, in fact she even nestled closer to him. "I'm sorry. I told you I might not be much of a conversationalist tonight." She breathed.

He shook his head. "Don't be silly, I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be, Samar." Harold kept his arm around her. "How about I put on a movie? That way you don't have to talk, you can just relax. Does that sound good?" Once Samar nodded, he reached for the remote and went straight to Netflix. Hers was the only profile on here, not that he was surprised. He scanned over the movies until he found one. "Roman Holiday?"

Samar nodded again, covering her mouth as she yawned. "Sounds good to me, sir." She said, and he pressed play. She tried to stay awake, really, she did. But with his body heat, his arm wrapped snugly around her, plus the exhaustion of the day, it didn't take her long to fall asleep.

Halfway into the movie, Harold glanced over and found her curled up against him, feet tucked under her body, sound asleep. Smiling gently, he carefully turned off the TV, setting the remote on the coffee table. Gingerly, he scooped her into his arms and carried her down the hall to the room with the door that was open a crack. Thankfully, it was the bedroom. He padded quietly in, not wanting to make noise and wake her, not after the day she'd just had. Harold carefully laid her on the bed, taking off her shoes and setting them by the bed, and her jacket and setting it off to the side. Then he picked her up again to pull the blankets back so he could gently slip her under the covers. It felt strange to be putting her into the bed while she still had the clothes she'd come to work in that day on, but the alternative was taking them _off_ her, and he knew neither of them were anywhere remotely ready for that. So he just left her as she was, pulling the blanket up over her body and carefully tucking it around her. Once that was done, he gave in to the urge to press a light kiss to her forehead before he was slipping out of the room like a spectre.

It occurred to him that he should leave now, that she didn't need him here. But it was late-one o' clock in the morning, if the clock on Samar's stove was to be believed-and he found that he had no desire to drive back to the office. So he sat down on the couch, took off his shoes and laid down, taking the blanket down from the top of the couch, draping it over himself.

It didn't take him long to fall asleep.

 

It took him even less time to wake up when he heard sounds coming from the bedroom. Quickly, he sprang up and hurried to the bedroom. Poking his head in, it was hard to make anything out in the darkness. But once his eyes adjusted, he could see the faint outline of a slender shape tangled in the bed sheets, sounds that were unmistakably fear filled leaving her lips.

 _She's having a nightmare._ He realized, the thought nearly knocking him on his back with how sudden it was.

Almost immediately on the heels of that thought, he was coming into the bedroom and shaking her. He had to wake her, he couldn't leave her to suffer through it.

She jolted awake, chest heaving, eyes wide. Her brown eyes found his in the darkness. "Harold?" She breathed. "What are you still doing here? I thought...I thought you would've left by now." He couldn't help wondering how many people had done that. Stayed just until she fell asleep, then left.

"I didn't want to leave you, in case you needed something." He told her honestly. "Can I turn on the lamp?" He saw the outline of her face as she nodded, his eyes adjusting, and reached over to do that. Pale yellow light flooded the room, and he turned his gaze back to her. "Do these nightmares happen often?"

"They've been happening almost nightly since I was a girl." Samar responded, and the certainty in her tone made his heart break.

"Is there anything I can do?" He asked gently. "I could make you some tea?"

Samar shook her head. "Thank you, I appreciate that, but I'm not sure my system could handle tea right now. My nerves are always shot after a nightmare."

"Okay, fair enough." Harold responded, nodding. "I'm not in the business of inviting myself places, but since I'm here already, I could stay? Just so you're not alone?"

Samar seemed to consider it. "That would be nice." She murmured. "But I think I'm going to change into sleepwear, so you can make yourself comfortable, if you want." She got out of the bed and walked over to her closet, and he carefully laid down on the side of the bed that she hadn't been occupying. She came back out a few minutes later in a black t-shirt and a pair of black pyjama pants, climbing onto the bed beside him and laying down.

Neither one of them spoke for a while. He looked over at her, taking in the exhaustion he saw on her face, how different she looked dressed in sleepwear rather than the clothing he was so used to seeing her in. His eyes wandered down to her arm, resting on the tattoo he had never really noticed before now. It looked like a stylized bird. He didn't understand the symbolism, but maybe there wasn't any. He slid his fingers through hers and gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

"My parents died when I was young. Thirteen, in fact." Samar blurted, though she didn't know why. "Sure, it was common for young girls to be married by at least thirteen in Tehran, but my parents never brought up the subject with me. They might have later, if they'd lived. But the point is, I was far too young to look after anyone properly. Yet, when they died, I had to step up. I didn't have a choice. So I took to raising my little brother. We were each other's everything for such a long time. When we both got old enough, we got similar tattoos, both birds." She swallowed hard, and he rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. She smiled weakly, and this seemed to give her the courage to keep speaking. "I'm thinking of getting it removed. Knowing what I know now about him, it hurts too much to keep it." She closed her eyes tight, and with this action, he had a sneaking suspicion that tears were building under her lids.

"I'm sorry, Samar." He murmured, not letting go of her hand. "You don't deserve any of what's happening or has happened to you."

Samar laughed, but the sound was sad, almost hollow. "Maybe I do." Opening her eyes, she looked straight at him. "I'm not a good person, Harold. I've done so many bad things. Maybe I deserve everything I've gotten up until this point."

"You think you deserved having your parents die when you were thirteen?" He scoffed a little at the absurdity.

"Maybe not that." She acquiesced. "Harold, why do you want to be around me?" Samar asked suddenly, causing his brows to furrow. Seeing his confusion, she pressed on. "Why do you continually choose to stay when so many others have already left?"

What did he have to lose? She deserved the truth. "Samar, from the moment I first saw, all those months ago, on the very same bench where we spilled our problems to each other not even a week ago, I felt an attraction to you. I tried to ignore it for the sake of Charlene, but then I almost lost you in the Factory. All I could do was listen to you as you were choking and I couldn't breathe, either _._ The thought that I could lose you was almost too much for me to bear at all. And then when you came to check on me after I got back from the hospital...The gesture was so sweet, the feelings that I was trying to suppress were only getting stronger. When I found out that Charlene had an affair on me, I was hurt, yes. But buried under the hurt and the anger, was some kind of relief. Because it made me feel less terrible about the feelings I have for you."

"I have feelings for you too." She admitted softly. "I have for a while now. Since you changed the bandage on my foot after I got back from the Factory. But I never even considered acting on it because of your wife. And maybe it's selfish of me, but it's her loss. As of late, it seems like every lifeline I have is slowly being snipped away from me. You're one of the only ones I haven't lost." Samar moved slightly to rest her head on his shoulder, and he smiled as she did so.

"And you're not going to lose me, if I have any say in the matter." Harold told her with an absolute certainty. After everything she'd lost already...it was easy for him to see that she was in an extremely fragile place right now. Any more loss could cripple her, or worse. _God forbid._ He thought desperately.

"Thank you, Harold." Samar's voice was quiet. "I really appreciate this, and everything you've done for me thus far." She pulled back slightly, and he found her looking at him. "What does this mean for us?"

"What do you want it to mean for us?" Harold asked. He was separated from Charlene, and working on getting officially divorced from her, so the choice was up to Samar.

"I don't know." Samar admitted, looking straight ahead now. "I do know that I really like you. I like your company, I like spending time with you. And I definitely want to do this more often."

"Then that's what we'll do." He said with a nod and a smile. "We don't have to put a label to it just yet if you don't want to, but we can keep doing this. Taking it as slowly or as quickly as you want, the choice is completely up to you, Samar. You set the pace." He reached over with his free hand to cup her cheek, smiling as she leaned into it. He watched her shift slightly closer, watching her gaze go down to his lips quickly before moving up to his face once more.

"Harold, if I asked you to kiss me right now, would you?" Samar's voice was barely above a whisper.

Well, he certainly wasn't about to refuse her. "Are you sure that's what you want?" He wanted everything _she_ wanted perfectly clear and out in the open before he even attempted to kiss her. Because she hadn't said no to Ressler, but she had been emotionally vulnerable, and Ressler had taken advantage of that. Harold vowed he would never do that.

"Harold, I've been uncertain about a lot of things these past couple days," Samar looked better than she had when he'd first entered her apartment. Not one hundred percent, but not close to breaking down completely, either. "but believe me when I say that wanting you to kiss me isn't one of them."

Harold nodded and shifted slightly closer. They were barely a breath apart. The slightest movement from either of them would make it so their lips were touching. His hand still cupping her cheek, he leaned in to press his lips to hers. Instantly, she reciprocated.

That was all they did. Just kiss. But strangely, or maybe not so much, considering the confession of feelings that had preceded it, it felt more intimate than anything else he'd done. If it were possible, he'd forego anything else in favour of just kissing her. But, of course, he couldn't do that, and when the need for air became too great, he broke off. "Wow." He breathed.

She laughed softly, and it was the most beautiful sound he'd heard in ages. "I couldn't have said it better. Harold, will you stay here with me tonight? I don't have as much trouble sleeping if someone's with me." Samar looked shy all of a sudden. "You don't have to if you don't want to."

"Samar, it's fine. I'd like nothing more." Harold told her sincerely. Both of them snuggled down under the covers, her head once again nestled on his shoulder, his arm around her. With his other, he reached up to turn off the lamp. "Goodnight, Samar." He gently kissed her on the forehead.

"Goodnight, Harold. Thank you again, for everything." If she weren't right beside him, he knew he wouldn't have heard her words, that was how quiet her voice was. Though she couldn't see it, he smiled in the dark and closed his eyes.

Within minutes, the only sounds in the room were their breathing as both fell into a better sleep than they'd had in days.


End file.
